


Three Men Walk Into A Bar

by Chromi



Series: Take My Breath Away [Tumblr SFW Prompt Fills] [5]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arrhythmia-verse, Attempt at Humor, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fill, Surprise Kissing, This Is STUPID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29140362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromi/pseuds/Chromi
Summary: “Hey, Marco,” Thatch roared over the thump of the music and the chatter of the other patrons jostling them at the bar, “isn’t that your friend over there?”“Fantastic,” Marco muttered, resting his chin on his bottle of cheap beer, “my stalker has made his presence known once again. Just hang me already.”
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks & Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco, Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco & Thatch
Series: Take My Breath Away [Tumblr SFW Prompt Fills] [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017327
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Three Men Walk Into A Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "I'm being hit on in a bar be my fake boyfriend for a sec" for Thatch/Marco.
> 
> This takes place before the main story, Arrhythmia, is set.

“Hey, Marco,” Thatch roared over the thump of the music and the chatter of the other patrons jostling them at the bar, “isn’t that your friend over there?”

Marco’s heart sank before he even glanced over his shoulder in the direction Thatch nodded in. Thing was, Marco and Thatch didn’t have any _friends_ in this city – not yet, at least. Such was the ever-miserable life of a junior doctor, even at registrar level, effectively touring the country for years without a permanent base to call home, uprooting every six to twelve months in order to learn from many and expand their knowledge base. _To take advantage of so many brilliant minds along their paths towards becoming fully qualified senior physicians_ , was the official reasoning. Thatch, on the other hand, liked to drunkenly spout off his theory that the hospitals, removal companies, and landlords of the country were working together to filch every last cent out of already poor as shit juniors.

So no, Thatch’s wide, filthy grin and excitedly raised eyebrows did not fill Marco with waves of cheer. Because sitting across the noisy cellar bar from them, on the other side of the dimly lit room and past the battered pool table, was _him_.

“Fantastic,” Marco muttered, resting his chin on his bottle of cheap beer, “my stalker has made his presence known once again. Just hang me already.”

Shanks.

Shanks the bastard paramedic.

Shanks the bastard paramedic was sitting with a drink in one hand, waving merrily with the other, all while ever so slightly rocking back and forth in time with the heavy beat of the bar’s music. Even in the poor lighting from that end of the bar his red hair was unmistakable, his annoyingly infectious grin one that was perfectly recognizable. And right now, that grin was focused on Marco, bright enough in its own right to draw the attention of a couple of tipsy women nearby.

“Do you really think he’s here because of you?” Thatch snorted, leaning back against the bar to better openly survey Shanks. “He’s not _that_ creepy, Marco – I’ll admit its weird how he keeps popping up around you at work, but there’s no way he could have known you’d be here now.”

“Unless someone told him,” Marco growled, sipping his beer. “Someone who wants to try and force me and that overly enamoured idiot together just for the sake of enjoying the ensuing drama.”

There was a pause as Thatch mulled over Marco’s dark mutterings, his wide grin slipping a little as the underlying meaning filtered through the three pints the doctor had already worked his steady way through. Though against both of their own advice, their plan to drink the hours away the night before a shift was fast turning into a scene that was painfully reminiscent of university.

“I didn’t tell him anything, if that’s what you’re implying,” Thatch said with a nudge to Marco’s arm. “I didn’t!” He protested when Marco glared at him, although the accompanying laugh did nothing to root his words in honesty. “He’s local too, right? Is it so unbelievable that he’d know about this place, that you’d accuse your best friend of throwing you to the—”

“I’m gonna tell Fee you’ve been stirring shit again,” Marco warned, taking malicious pleasure from Thatch’s horror at the mention of his partner, “and she’s not going to be happy with you.”

As Thatch spluttered into further demands for his innocence to be believed, something caught Marco’s eye. Something that made his stomach drop down to his feet, his lips to go numb with horror in line with what the mouse must feel when the cat finally corners it in an alley.

Shanks was getting up, drink in hand, and was looking at Marco through the gloom as if he had every intention of devouring him on the spot.

And thus began Marco’s final countdown, alarm bells shrieking in his mind. If Shanks – overly friendly and certainly not sober – joined them, then they’d no doubt have a repeat of the last time they had met socially, and hands would find skin where such touches were not welcome (as Marco continued to firmly tell himself over and over). Shanks would be suave, and Shanks would be warm against Marco where he pressed by _accident_ – and Marco couldn’t say that he wanted to leave with anything but his dignity tonight. Or any night, for that matter.

“Ed,” Marco gasped, suddenly apparently unable to draw adequate breath, “Ed, he’s coming this way.”

Thatch looked up, cut short mid-sentence in his pleadings for Marco’s mercy.

“So he is!” Thatch trilled far too happily for someone about to witness his best friend’s humiliation. “Excellent, let’s buy him a drink.”

“Does he know about you and Fee?” Marco demanded, a wild idea seizing him all of a sudden.

“Eh?”

“Does he—” Marco jabbed a finger in Shanks’ direction where he was winding his way among the little tables and hoards of people, “—know that you’re married?”

“Uh,” Thatch frowned, “I dunno, maybe? I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned I’m—”

“Pretend to be my boyfriend.”

It was a credit to Thatch that he at least seemed to consider this demand for half a second before bursting into raucous laughter, genially slapping Marco on the forearm hard enough to make his drink in hand slop over the rim.

“Nope,” Thatch wheezed, chuckling, “no way, he knows you’re single, you big idiot, he’s never gonna believe that we’re together.”

 _“Please,”_ Marco hissed, terror thrumming through his blood the closer Shanks got. The other man was picking out his route with difficulty owing to the number of people crammed into the room, but determination saw him make frighteningly quick work of the task, much to Marco’s horror. “Ed, _please_ , I’ll do anything, I’ll cover a shift for you—no, _three_ shifts, all nights—just _save me_.”

“Introducing me as your boyfriend isn’t gonna work, you fool,” Thatch snorted, wiggling his fingers in a wave at Shanks, encouraging him, the bastard. “He. Knows. You. Are. Single.”

But desperate times called for desperate measures, and if this wasn’t desperation, then Marco didn’t know what was. Taking the glass of beer from Thatch’s hand and setting it down on the counter, Marco steeled himself in preparation for what he was about to do, and prayed that Fee would find it in her heart to forgive him.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that,” Marco muttered, grabbing Thatch by the face, “and I’m _so_ sorry for this.”

Right as Shanks broke through the jostling crowd and reached his destination, Marco – taking a deep breath – pulled Thatch down the handful of centimeters that separated them into a hard, painful kiss, owning to how they practically butted faces in his haste.

It was not a pleasant kiss. Not at all. It was about as pleasant as a kiss can be when neither party wanted to do it and Marco, the instigator, had to hold his poor hapless victim sealed against his mouth despite Thatch’s grunt of shock and flailing of hands. It could barely even be called a kiss at all; more of a pressing of thin-lipped grimaces against each other, teeth sealed shut. Even Thatch had the good sense not to open his mouth in vehement protest, instead going for Marco’s wrists – and finding that when fighting for his right to remain Shanks-free, Marco was annoyingly strong.

But it couldn’t last. All too soon Thatch managed to twist his face out of Marco’s clawing grip, dragging the back of a palm across his mouth while glaring with thunderous mortification at his best friend.

And Shanks, of course – because _fuck_ Shanks and that knowing smile of his – was not perturbed by their little display.

Hopping up onto the barstool beside Marco and slinging one leg over the other, Shanks cheerfully said, “had a few too many already, Marco? Ed? Lovely to see you, by the way.”

“No,” Marco snapped, pushing Thatch further (and mentally apologizing profusely for it) by wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him against his hip, “we’ve started dating. Recently. I’m in love with him.”

“Uh-huh,” Shanks grinned, catching the eye of one of the bartenders. “I’m sure you, Ed, and Mrs Fiona Thatch are all very happy together.” Then, with a dazzling smile that threw Marco’s whole night into the darkest of shadows: “Can I buy you both a drink?”

**Author's Note:**

> I love chatting, so feel free to send me a message on either [Tumblr](https://chromiwrites.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Chromiwrites)! I'm always open to requests and chatting about these guys!


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